


The Mistletoe Epidemic

by acid rounds (cobwebcorner)



Series: Things We Don't Tell Chris [4]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Christmas Party, Comedy, F/F, F/M, Foe Yay, M/M, Mistletoe, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 13:11:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13100862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobwebcorner/pseuds/acid%20rounds
Summary: It's the 5th Annual Raccoon Survivors Support Group Christmas Party, and some overzealous decorator has flooded the house with mistletoe.Which wouldn't be a problem, except that this year a mysterious party crasher is lurking about, threatening to expose the dark secrets of the people gathered there.





	The Mistletoe Epidemic

**Author's Note:**

> Let's write a short little fic for Christmas, I said. It'll be a great opportunity to tease all the flavors of foe yay relationships I have planned for this AU, I said. 
> 
> 12,000 words later, here we are. Merry freaking Christmas!
> 
> Obviously this is part of a series and some of the relationships might not make sense if you haven't at least read Morons and Madmen. Not every kiss has been tagged, because there are a lot of them and several are quite short and random. Anyway, enjoy!

They met that year a few days before Christmas, at Rebecca's sprawling house in New England. Snow fell thick and fast past the windows, blanketing the streets in white.

Jill scooped a spoonful of eggnog-in-progress and tasted it, smacking her lips a few times as she analyzed the flavor. After a moment's thought, she picked up the bottle of dark rum from the counter and added a splash. Christmas carols drifted in through the open door, mingling with the raised voices of Ada and Rebecca arguing over whether to put on “It's a Wonderful Life” or “How the Grinch Stole Christmas.”

Jill thought for a moment more, then upended the whole rest of the bottle into the pot.

Leon, who was tossing tomato chunks into a saucepan beside her, raised his eyebrows.

“Trust me,” Jill told him. She stirred the dark brown splotch of rum in and reached for the nutmeg. “How's that dip coming?”

“Almost as cheesy as I am.” He poked at the sauce with a spoon. “Rebecca's stove cooks so much faster than mine.”

“That's because the burners aren't crap.”

Rebecca poked her head into the kitchen.

“Hey Jill, is Carlos coming this year?”

“Yeah. His flight got delayed, so he's going to be a little late.”

“Got it.” She shot off a quick salute and pulled back out of the door frame. “Carlos would definitely rather watch It's a Wonderful Life, so that's two against...”

“What say we take over the TV while they're not looking?” Leon proposed in a hushed voice.

“Muppet Christmas Carol?”

“Yeah,” he answered.

“Yeah,” she agreed.

There was nothing left to do but let the eggnog cool for a while, so Jill dusted off her hands and left the kitchen. They'd really outdone themselves this year, she thought, looking over the decorations. Every wall was plastered with lights and fake pine garlands, there were nutcrackers and little Santa figures standing on every available surface, and even the little electric keyboard in the corner was draped in pine cones and mistletoe.

Rebecca and Ada stood next to the entertainment unit, the former with a pile of DVDs in her hand, the latter holding a glass of wine she'd gotten from who knew where. Rebecca was wearing a fuzzy sweater with big red and white stripes and a giant felt reindeer head in the middle. Ada, by contrast, was wearing a shimmery red dress that wouldn't have looked out of place at a fancy gala.

Jill didn't know Ada very well. She'd shown up at last year's party out of the blue, and Leon had been so gobsmacked he hadn't been able to speak straight for five minutes. He'd eventually managed to explain that they had met in Raccoon, and he'd never expected her to come to one of these. She still didn't go to the regular meetings, but apparently she liked the party well enough to show up again.

Jill went over to the keyboard, wiping a fingerfull of dust off the white keys.

“Do you still play, Rebecca?” she asked during a lull in the argument.

“Oh. I keep meaning to, you know, to get back in shape. You never know when it can come in handy, right? But I've just been so busy at the labs...”

The doorbell rang.

“I'll get it,” Jill said.

She opened the door to a beaming Claire Redfield, who was absolutely not dressed for this weather. All she had on were her normal leathers and jeans, with a Santa hat set askew on top of her head.

"I hope you didn't drive the bike in this," Jill said, stepping aside so the woman could come in.

"In this weather? I'm not that crazy? Chris dropped me off. He's probably still out there pouting."

Jill looked. There was Chris's beat-up old pickup, idling at the end of the drive. Jill waved to him and then very firmly closed the door.

"He wanted me to give you this," Claire said, presenting a bottle of brandy. A tag looped around the neck of the bottle read, 'I'm still sorry.'

Jill had decided early on not to invite Chris or the other S.T.A.R.S. to this support group. He hadn't been there in the final days of Raccoon, and she didn't need to deal with his toxic attitude toward talking about trauma. If the S.T.A.R.S. wanted to get together again, then that could be a separate thing.

Rebecca was the exception, because she let them use her house.

Claire hung her coat up on the stand and shook her shoulders with an exaggerated shiver.

"Brr. It's cold out."

"Come get some eggnog, that'll thaw you out."

"Hi Claire!" Rebecca chirped as the two women entered the living room. She rushed immediately to the redhead, shoving the two DVD cases in her face. “What do you think, 'It's a Wonderful Life' or 'How the Grinch Stole Christmas'?”

A stunned Claire looked back and forth between the two, frowning.

“How about Die Hard?”

“Die Hard is not a Christmas movie!”

“It's totally a Christmas movie! It takes place at Christmas, ergo...”

Jill sighed. They had this same argument every year.

 

* * *

 

Back in the kitchen, Leon was just scooping the last of the dip into a Santa head bowl which made it look unsettlingly like Santa’s exposed brain was made of melted cheddar. Rebecca’s supply of odd holiday decorations seemed to double every year, and the young medic-turned-scientist seemed determined to use every piece of it.

He balanced the dip in one hand and the bowl of chips in the other just as the argument outside was gaining heat.

“It’s nothing but violence! Just because there’s a Christmas party in it doesn’t mean--”

“Who wants some chips?” Leon interrupted loudly.

“Yes, please,” Jill said, looking absurdly grateful for the interruption. She took the dip bowl from his hand to set it on the little table.

“That looks really good,” Rebecca said. She was already bustling around, ripping the plastic off packages of napkins and little paper plates. Distraction: successful.

“And Chris sent this for us,” Jill added, setting a bottle of high proof brandy on the table. Rebecca’s eyes lit up in excitement.

“Oh, I have the perfect glasses for that! Leon, can you get them from my china cabinet? They're the ones with the snowflakes,” Rebecca said

“Sure,” Leon said.

He left them chattering around the table, a little smile on his face. Rebecca's enthusiasm was as contagious as the deadly viruses she worked to stop.

As he approached the open door to the dining room, a shadow dashed out of sight, flickering away from the closed kitchen shutter. He slowed a little, his brow furrowing, and then he looked back at the group behind him. Jill, Claire, Rebecca, Ada...and Carlos wasn't here yet. That was everyone accounted for.

It must have been a trick of the light.

The dining room had no lights on, other than the colorful glow of the Christmas lights strung along the walls. It was enough for him to see his way to the china cabinet, which had been draped in pine garlands and red bows. So the decorations had spread here, too. It wouldn't have surprised him if the whole house was done up. Every ceiling seemed to have mistletoe hanging from it somewhere, usually near doorways, and he'd already spent his first few hours carefully timing when to enter rooms so he wouldn't get caught under it with anybody.

Except Ada, but she had eluded him so far. Wasn't that the story of his life.

No shadowy figure lay in wait within the dining room. He took a deep breath and tried to crush down his professional instincts, ignoring the alarm bells ringing in his head. This was a party, full of ex-military vets and people who had survived zombie hordes. A prowler would have to be insane to break in here now. He repeated this to himself as he crossed to the cabinet.

A floorboard creaked to his right, from within the adjoining study. Leon calmly put his glasses down on the table, casting a casual glance that way. The study door was open.

The study looked empty at a glance. But it was oval shaped, and much of the room was blocked from view by the open door. He slipped inside quietly, searching the dark shadows between bookcases and behind the computer desk.

Time for the moment of truth. He gently rounded the door, equally prepared to find nothing and feel ridiculous or punch out an intruder. He glimpsed a figure in black.

A hand clapped over his mouth and pulled him forward. Before he knew it, he'd been spun around and shoved back-first into a masculine chest. He attempted to elbow his attacker, only to have the limb caught, twisted, and pinned. In less than two seconds he was trapped, unable to budge the superior strength of the arms holding him.

“Hello, Leon.”

The sound of that voice was not a relief, but it did deflate his fight or flight urge very neatly. Leon went lax, his eyes rolling up towards the ceiling. Once it was obvious he had calmed, the arms loosened enough for him to pull the hand from his mouth and turn around.

There stood Wesker, looking entirely too smug and very out of place against the festive cheer behind him.

"You sure don't look like Santa Claus," Leon said.

"I should hope not," Wesker replied.

"How did you get in here?"

"Not through the chimney, I assure you."

"Tch." Leon pulled out of Wesker’s arms, retreating to a safe distance to look him over. The man was wearing yet another suit and turtleneck combo, this time with a burgundy sweater. "I don't know what you're up to, but if Jill sees you, she's going to blow your head off."

Flippant as he tried to sound, the anxiety that thought caused was very real. If any of the others except Ada ran into Wesker, a fight was sure to break out. And he knew from firsthand experience how well that would turn out. Wesker was practically invincible.

Not to mention seeing your undead, treacherous ex-boss would put a serious crimp in anyone's holiday party. The girls in the front room were all relaxed and having fun. He could hear Jill laughing at something, and Claire’s voice rose above the chatter to pursue the dropped Die Hard argument with classic Redfield tenacity. Moments of peace were hard to come by for these people, and he was determined to protect it.

"Concerned about me?” Wesker purred. “Why Leon, I don't know what to say." He leisurely pursued Leon, closing distance until he was just this side of invading the agent’s personal space.

"Don't want to stick Rebecca with the cleaning bill, that's all. Brains are murder to scrub out of the carpet."

Leon didn't back up or stand down, even as Wesker propped an arm up on the wall beside his head.

"Such confidence in her abilities," Wesker said.

"Look, why don't we skip the fore--" he saw the twitch in Wesker's lips and caught himself, "--the bullshit and you can tell me what your game is before...someone..." Leon trailed off, his eyes fixed on the berry sprig hung up right over Wesker's head. The mistletoe, right, he'd forgotten the stuff was everywhere. So that was why Wesker looked so smug and intent all of a sudden. The clever bastard had lured him to this spot on purpose.

"Really?" Leon sighed. He cast a quick glance behind him to make sure no one had come looking for him yet. “You could just ask, you know.”

He didn't wait for Wesker to say something else smarmy and infuriating. The look on the man's face was bad enough. He grabbed Wesker's lapels and tugged.

"Fine, c'mere."

Wesker's eyebrows quirked upward. Leon was a little surprised himself. Well, he had to get Wesker out of sight, and that would be easier if he placated the man first.

Wesker leaned in and pressed their mouths together, striking all the rationalizations from Leon's mind. For a dangerous second Leon forgot all about the people in the other room. He lost himself in Wesker's smell and the warmth of his mouth. Without his permission his grip tightened on Wesker's coat, reeling the man even closer to him. Wesker's hands smoothed over Leon's christmas sweater, slipped low to tease at his belt line. Leon grabbed the hands before they could slip down any further.

"Mmph--Not here!"

Wesker hummed reluctant agreement. "Entertaining as you are, you're not the reason I've come here." His face shifted to the side. "However, as long as you're here, there is something that might interest you. Perhaps we can have a chat later." He drew back, slipping his hands out of Leon's.

Then Leon heard Rebecca's voice drawing closer. He left Wesker smirking in the office and hurried to the table to grab the two shot glasses he had set down. Rebecca reached the archway before Leon was able to intercept her.

"Hey just what I need, another pair of hands!" he said with slightly forced ease. Rebecca blinked at the glasses now sitting in her hands while Leon went back to grab four more. "How's the dip? Have you tried it yet?"

"Uh, yeah, it's really good. Is it a new recipe?"

"What, you didn't like last year's?"

Leon risked one more look back as he subtly steered Rebecca right back out into the living room. He thought he could see a tall shadow lingering by the study door, before the plaster wall butted into his way.

"Oh!" Rebecca said ahead of him. Leon's head whipped back around. The younger woman had nearly collided with Ada, who was just coming out of the kitchen with a cheese platter.

"Sorry about that, I didn't see you there," Ada said.

"Oooooooo," Claire said, from somewhere near the snack table.

As one, Ada and Rebecca's eyes drifted slowly upwards to the innocent-looking plant hanging over them. Leon wasn't sure whether to laugh or feel cheated.

"Um," Rebecca said, a faint pink tinge dusting her cheeks.

Ada smiled in that coy way of hers and bent down, pecking the scientist on the cheek. She swaggered out to the table with her tray, leaving Rebecca to turn red behind her while Claire hooted.

"You really did put that stuff everywhere, didn't you?" Leon said as he passed by with a pat on her shoulder.

"I forgot about the tradition..." Rebecca admitted.

Leon joined the other two at the snack table and poured a glass of Jill's eggnog to steady his nerves. The study was an awful place to leave Wesker to his own devices, and he knew it. You had to pass the archway for the dining room in order to reach the kitchen door, and there was the risk that someone would open the shutter in there and get an eyeful of Tyrant lurking by the study. Yet, what else could he have done? Wesker wouldn't have agreed to hide under the desk no matter how well Leon kissed him.

“So what is it you do again?” Claire was asking Ada, her glass of eggnog tilted at a precarious angle towards the woman in red.

“I’m working for the U.N.,” Ada replied smoothly.

“Oh. As like, a translator?”

“I’m an inspector, of sorts.”

It never failed to amaze Leon how quickly and easily Ada made up lies. Some days, he wondered if Ada was even her real name. They had things to discuss, but he couldn't let Claire overhear. He caught Ada's eye during a lull in the conversation and jerked his chin to the right, indicating they needed to talk in semi-privacy. They drifted to the corner near the keyboard together, ignoring Claire's knowing giggles.

“Cute sweater,” Ada told him. “You know, there isn’t any mistletoe over here.”

“Don’t remind me of that now. Listen, uh. Do you know anything about any,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “ _uninvited guests_ lurking around?”

Ada blinked.

“Other than me?”

“I invite you every year. We just weren’t expecting you to actually show up, ever.” He scratched at the back of his neck.

Ada leaned back, her eyes casually taking in the room.

“I haven’t seen anyone who shouldn’t be here. Who...?”

The doorbell rang.

 

* * *

 

Despite the crooning tones of Bing Crosby filtering out from Rebecca’s stereo system, Jill kept eyeing the keyboard with a speculative air. She didn’t know any good songs by heart, but maybe, if she had some sheet music, she could try to brush some of the rust off her fingers.

Leon and his lady friend drifted away from the instrument at the ringing of the bell. That was Carlos, then, only a little later then they’d been expecting. Leon went to open the door.

“Carlos, hey!”

“Hey, Leon, man! Good to see you! Sorry I didn’t get a chance to go with you on your trip down south.”

“Ah, you didn’t miss much. Some zombies, couple mutants, one plant-man hybrid as tall as a house...”

“Sounds like a fun weekend. Hey Jill!”

She waved.

“Merry Christmas, Carlos. Did your flight go okay?”

“Eh, it wasn’t so bad. Would have been nicer if it was on time. They had us waiting out on the runway for two hours, can you believe it? Oh, hey, Rebecca! You-know-who says hi!”

Jill was happy to melt into the background as the exuberant man went around the room, greeting everyone. Carlos didn’t come to meetups very often. Like Ada, his work kept him busy trotting all over the globe. He still worked as a mercenary, just a more discerning one with a wiser eye for avoiding bad jobs.

He was a good man, a bit of a flirt, but mostly harmless. It was a little painful looking at him, sometimes. She couldn’t help thinking about Raccoon whenever she did. That wasn’t fair to him, but she couldn’t help it. Unlike Leon or Claire, she hadn’t met him before or after Raccoon city, and she didn’t have many other memories to associate with him. Just Christmas parties, and dark memories of a fallen city filled with the howls of the dead.

A small hand picking at her sleeve pulled her out of her own head. Rebecca was standing determinedly with her two DVD cases, plaintively asking for her to weigh in on the still going argument. The choices had changed to “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” versus “Die Hard.”

“Die Hard,” she said without hesitation.

“Seriously?”

“It has plenty of Christmas values,” Jill said with a solemn nod.

“...like what?”

“Throwing people who threaten your loved ones out of windows.”

Rebecca sighed in exasperation.

“I don’t know what to do with you people.”

“Hey, do you have any sheet music? For that,” she clarified at Rebecca’s dumbfounded look, and waved to the keyboard.

“I think there’s a book of Christmas carols somewhere in the study.”

“Thanks.”

Jill remembered the study was somewhere at the back of the house. Rebecca’s house was an old one with a closed off floor plan, where the bottom floor was arranged in a circle around a central staircase. They’d all thought it was a little big for one person, when she first got it. She had told them that she wanted enough room for all her friends to stay over, if they needed to, and that she’d learned a thing or two from Umbrella. Jill couldn't fathom what she meant by that last bit.

Since she was in the foyer already, she went around the back way, passed the stairs, and entered the dining room from the west side. There was the study, hard to miss with its large, sturdy desk and towering bookshelves.

Even harder to miss was the man sitting at that desk.

The scene was so incongruous that she had to stand and stare for a moment, to make sure she hadn't dreamed it up as part of some distorted flashback. But no, she had never seen Albert fucking Wesker wearing red before, and she hadn't had any alcohol yet either. There was no excuse for the vision before her eyes other than simple reality itself.

Her eyebrows collapsed in an angry furrow.

"Wesker. What do you think you're doing here?" she hissed just a little above a whisper, and rapidly closed the distance between them. Wesker watched her calmly from his seat, as if she were just an angry citizen complaining in his own office, and not a woman he had betrayed and left to die--TWICE.

"Just indulging in a little of the Christmas spirit. There is a party going on, darling, try to keep up." Wesker smiled and stood up, rounded the desk. He did not seem the least bit intimidated by her glare.

"I don't remember inviting you."

"I was there in Raccoon, wasn't I? Don't I get to count as a survivor?"

"You're a dead man. You didn't survive anything," she told him.

"Fair enough."

It was moments like this that she really hated the difference in their heights. Wesker was a full head taller than her, which made it difficult to loom over him.

As she was glaring upwards, she noticed the plant hanging above them, and realized why Wesker had been so quick to stand up and close in on her while she was standing here. The cheeky son of a bitch.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

"People tell me so frequent--"

She grabbed his shoulders and tugged. Fuck it, it was Christmas. She could do one little kiss, for old time's sake.

"Get down here before I come to my senses," she told him when he didn't move.

Bemused, Wesker leaned down enough for her to kiss him. She had meant it to be a quick peck, maybe a bite (he'd deserve it), but then his palm pressed flat between her shoulder blades and her arms tangled around his neck. One minute stretched into two, into three, and the cold peck ended as something heated and passionate and guilty. Damn this man, and what he did to her. Damn herself, for never learning.

Jill broke away for air, still glaring.

"I told you in Milan, if you ever showed your face again..."

“As much as I enjoy your company, darling, the threats are becoming tiresome. Must you always be so hostile?” He massaged small, soothing circles into her back. “You have yet to find a way to kill me.”

“Just give me more time,” she growled. Far from being intimidated, Wesker’s smile grew wider. She let out an irritated huff. “You didn’t come here just to needle me.” Her eyes flicked to the desk, checking the document he’d been reading.

It was a notebook full of a lot of scrawled ideas and equations in Rebecca’s looping handwriting. Jill narrowed her eyes.

"Is that...you're not stealing Rebecca's research, are you?"

"Why should I? She is still playing catch up for work I've already seen. Her progress is remarkable, I'll admit, but I have no use for it."

God, Rebecca. What would she do if she saw Wesker in her house? What would any of them think if they caught her in his arms? She jerked away from him as if he were on fire.

"You can't stay here," Jill said. "Some of the others might not recognize you, but Rebecca and Claire sure will."

"And what do you propose, darling?"

"Do I need to light up the exit for you? I can throw you through the window if you need help."

"Then it's unfortunate that I have no interest in leaving."

"You--" she cut herself off, grasping at her temper with fraying patience. Arguing with him wouldn't get her anywhere. Any minute now, someone could come looking for her. She had to get Wesker to move somewhere he wouldn't be seen.

"Upstairs. Now."

Wesker looked intrigued, though she couldn't figure out why. She was too busy to puzzle over his moods just then. After making sure the coast was clear, she gestured sharply for him to follow her to the stairs. She felt 16 again, sneaking through the house with a boy at her back, praying not to get caught.

It always felt strange, wandering the unoccupied parts of someone else’s house. Rebecca had done her best to make sure Christmas cheer reached up here, too, with tinsel garlands wound around the stair railing and balls of holly and mistletoe hanging at intervals from the ceiling. It was a little endearing how overboard Rebecca went with decorating. It was a far cry from Jill’s own apartment, which had a single ball wreath hung on the door and nothing else.

She opened the first door into the master bedroom. There were many more bookcases in here, all of them crammed so full there were extra books piled on top.

Jill looked at the queen bed with its moss green covers and felt a sting of realization at the same moment Wesker's arms wound around her waist from behind. No wonder he had been so happy to follow her up here. He must have assumed they were going to violate Rebecca's house, of all things.

She seized his wrists before he could get any friskier.

"Wesker," she growled, warning.

"Yes, darling?" he purred in her ear.

“I am going back downstairs,” she told him firmly. “ _You_ are staying here. And then you are leaving as soon as you get the chance. _Without_ being seen.”

“An interesting prediction. And what incentive do I have for any of this?”

She struggled out of his hold enough to turn around and grab him by the collar of his turtleneck. His smirk did not falter, no matter how hotly she glared at him. Right—he used to be into this kind of thing, she remembered.

"If you ruin Christmas for any of these people, I'm cutting your dick off."

He chuckled as she slipped from his hold and made for the door.

“It would grow back, you know,” he called after her.

“It would still hurt!” she hissed.

"Jill? Where did you go?" Rebecca was calling from downstairs.

Jill gave the smirking bastard one final warning glare before hurrying out into the hall.

"Over here," she called down.

Rebecca, who had just been passing by the base of the stairs, stopped and looked up.

"Oh! I'm sorry, did I tell you to check the bookshelves in the bedroom? I meant the study." She waved the tall red book in her hand. "Here it is."

"Thank you." To tell the truth, Jill had completely forgotten about the sheet music.

"It's a little old, but, carols never go out of date, right?" Rebecca said, presenting the book to Jill with both hands as the older woman hurried down the stairs.

It _was_ old--the pages were yellowed, and the corners were worn. Jill thanked Rebecca for it and followed her slowly back to the warmth and chatter of the party, flipping through pages as she went.

Her attention was so fixed on the songs zipping by that she almost ran into someone.

"Whoops! Sorry, Jill," Claire drawled. "Oh. Uh oh."

Jill looked up from her book and saw that Claire was staring at the ceiling. Jill craned her head back.

"Rebecca has a lot of mistletoe..." Jill said.

"It looks nice. Well, you can't argue with tradition."

"I mean, we don't have to..." But Claire was already leaning down towards her. It had never really sunk in before that the redhead was several inches taller than her. Most people were taller than Jill, to be fair.

Jill went for a peck on the cheek, just as Ada had done for Rebecca earlier. And just like Wesker, Claire caught her mouth instead, her arms flopping over Jill's shoulders. It was wet and sloppy and Claire tasted like an entire jug of very strong eggnog. Jill was still fighting to process this turn of events by the time Claire pulled away giggling.

"Don't tell Chris," she said, waving a stern finger in front of Jill's face. Her words were just a touch slurred. "He'll chase you out of town with a shovel."

"How much eggnog have you had?" Jill asked, a step away from giggling herself.

"Let's see, 1...2...3.." Claire counted on her fingers. "...lots."

Jill hooked an arm around Claire's shoulders and steered her into the dining room before she got any ideas about exploring the house. Just in case. A sober Claire meeting Wesker would be bad enough. She shuddered to think of the mayhem a tipsy Claire would cause.

"It's just a little buzz," Claire went on. "I can handle my liquor. I went to college, you know."

"Uh huh. Let's get some food in you so you hate yourself less in the morning."

 

It was a good enough start, she supposed later, sitting at the bench for the keyboard and flipping through the sheet music. All the old favorites were there, from Jingle Bells to O Holy Night. Rebecca and Claire had left off arguing about movies and were standing over her shoulder, shouting suggestions.

She refused to get anxious over the man hidden upstairs. It was Christmas, she was surrounded by friends, and this was her first real chance to kick back and relax in a long while. She would not give Wesker that power over her. If she tracked everyone's movements out of the corner of her eye, on watch for anyone who might wander too close to the stairs, well, it would be foolish not to show a little caution.

Leon was standing a little removed from everyone else, close to the doorway to the dining room. He kept glancing behind him every once in a while. Jill guessed he was hoping to catch his lady friend under the mistletoe there. Ada didn't seem to have noticed, yet. She was propping up the snack table with a hip, delicately sipping at a glass of the brandy.

Jill creased the song book open at the page for It Came Upon a Midnight Clear, and started to play, smiling a little to herself as she watched Carlos slip to the unguarded TV and put in a DVD to play.

 

* * *

 

Claire was definitely not drunk. Maybe, a little tipsy. Slightly buzzed. Liable to break into giggles at any moment.

Someone had ignored all her passionate arguments for the best Christmas movie ever and decided to put Jingle All the Way on, instead. It was acceptable enough. She liked watching Arnold Schwarzenegger beat up a mob of Santas.

At the moment, though, what she really needed was a bathroom, and someone was using the one on the ground floor. She trooped up the tinsel-wrapped stairs, humming to herself in tune with the song Jill was playing.

Claire leaned against the top banister and tried to remember where the bathroom was. She had lived with Rebecca for a little while after she bought this house, which just made it more embarrassing that she couldn't remember the layout.

With a shrug, she tried the first door she saw. It was an empty guest bedroom, packed full of boxes. Sherry had stayed here at one point, before the agency forbid her from leaving the facility. Claire deflated a little, remembering a Christmas past where the two of them had watched the snow fall out that window. Maybe this year she'd talk Chris into going up to Oregon and spending the holiday with Sherry.

Much too sober thoughts for a party, Claire decided. She shut the door and swaggered down the hall to the next one, saluting a sprig of mistletoe as she passed underneath it. Time to see what was behind door number two. Green bed, full bookcases, Wesker examining the barred window, shelf full of plushy molecules, this had to be Rebecca's bedroom.

Wait.

Wesker turned around and raised an eyebrow.

Claire squinted at his bemused face for several seconds, trying to work out the scene before her. Wesker was usually a bad thing to run into. He was a big jerk who liked to do dickish things like pull innocent young women around by the hair, and steal cute dead boys.

HOWEVER, it was still Christmas, and they were at a party, and Wesker wasn’t looking particularly menacing at the moment. Chris wasn’t even around to be threatened by him. So, Claire beamed at him.

"Heeeeey. You look good in red."

"....dearheart." Wesker's smile was tight. "How nice to see you again."

"Did you like my package?"

Wesker's nostrils flared.

"Three weeks," he said. "That's how long it took to clean all the glitter out of my office."

Claire doubled over with giggles, which Wesker obviously did not appreciate. He stalked over to her and seized her chin, tilting her face up.

"You're lucky you're so low on my priority list, dearheart. If I had not been able to recover that sample you switched it with, things would not have turned out so well for you."

"Did it get in your hair?" she asked, her grin stretching her cheeks.

"As I'm sure you built the spring yourself, you must already know the answer to that question."

"I wish I could have seen that," she told him. Then her brow furrowed. "You're not going to step on me again, are you?"

"I'm tempted," Wesker said. "Although it's not what I came here for."

He had been forcing her to back up as they were talking, so they were both standing in the middle of the hall by this point.

"Perhaps if you did a little favor for me, I might be willing to wipe the slate clean," he purred.

Her eyes traveled over the top of his immaculate hair to the cluster of white berries hanging above them. Oh, she liked where this was going. Obviously he wasn’t _too_ mad at her.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, buddy,” she told him, and then she flung her arms around his neck and crushed their mouths together.

Mistletoe really was the best, she thought. It was an excellent excuse.

If Wesker was taken aback by her sudden enthusiasm, he didn’t say anything about it. The eggnog might have dulled Claire’s technique a little bit, but she made up for it with sheer boldness. Wesker was stiff against her for all of three seconds before he gave back as good as he got. She leaned on him, more and more, until she got sick of having to crane her neck up and jumped up on him. Her legs wrapped snugly around his waist. Where an ordinary man would have toppled under her weight, Wesker caught her thighs and held her with ease.

Eventually, Claire ran out of air. She broke away, resting her forehead against his and giggling.

"I'm still not pleased with you, dearheart," Wesker said.

"Good," Claire said. "Wait. Why were you in Rebecca's bedroom?"

"Apparently, the study was too exposed."

"Oh." Claire twisted in his arms, craning her neck to look down the stairs. If anyone came up and saw them like this, she was going to be in so much trouble. And Wesker would get shot. Which he would deserve, but, it was Christmas and the only gun violence really ought to be happening in a movie. "We probably shouldn't be doing this out in the hall." Then, after a moment more's thought on the subject, "I probably shouldn't be doing this at all."

"You're as reckless as your brother," Wesker said.

"You take that back. I am MUCH prettier than Chris."

"That's..." Wesker trailed off, unable to argue with her perfection. "How is the eggnog this year?" he asked, knowing.

"REALLY good," she moaned. "Jill makes the best eggnog."

Wesker sighed. "This just isn't as much fun when you're tipsy," he said.

Speaking of Jill, Claire was reminded that they were still standing in the middle of the hall for anyone to see. She hopped down out of Wesker's arms and plucked at his sweater, urging him to follow her down the hall.

"Come on, come on, if anyone sees you they're going to be really mad at you. And then they'll be mad at me."

"I was out of sight," he reminded her, "Before someone came barging in."

"Bedroom's no good, the bathroom's in there. Here!" She had opened the door at the end, into the sun room which Rebecca used for storage. The sky glowed orange through the skylight, in that special way it did on cloudy, snowy nights.

Claire breathed in deeply, her head thrown back.

"I love winter!" she proclaimed to the skylight, her arms thrust out wide. "Except icy roads. I hate icy roads."

Wesker snorted quietly behind her.

"At this rate, I'm going to get a tour of the whole house," he muttered.

Claire turned on him.

"You're probably up to no good, aren't you?" she said, slowly, as the understanding coalesced in her brain.

"Generally a safe assumption," he said, chuckling. "At least this space is free from tinsel."

"Claire!" Jill's voice, sounding slightly alarmed.

"Oh, shit. I gotta go." She barreled out of the room without another thought for the blond man left behind her.

Claire went out to the banister and leaned precariously far over it, smiling down at the woman below.

"Is something wrong?"

"I just. You've been away a long time."

"Yeah, sorry, I forgot where the bathroom was up here." Which reminded her of her full bladder, which was still complaining.

"Did you...find it? Alright?" Jill asked.

"Yeah, it's cool. I'm not that drunk, Jill."

"Well, don't fall off the railing," Jill said, still looking worried.

Claire leaned back to ease the other woman’s fears, and then she ran back to the master bedroom, because nature was starting to call really, really loudly.

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Leon was holding to his station between the dining room door and the kitchen door, and trying to convince himself that he was seeing things. Or rather, not seeing things, as a trick of the light playing to his own anxieties.

Very nervously he watched the other party goers, waiting for a chance when all backs were turned and eyes were away. People kept turning to include him in conversation, which was very thoughtful of them, and also very annoying.

He sidled up to the snack table for some chips and another glass of the eggnog. On his return to his post, he and Carlos accidentally bumped shoulders. No big deal, at any other time, except that just then Rebecca made a noise like a crooning noise. Leon realized they were near the kitchen door, where the mistletoe was, and he could tell by Carlos's face that the other man had realized the same thing.

Carlos Oliviera, the bold South American mercenary who had survived hell several times over without wavering, looked at him now with all the calm and fortitude of a deer in the headlights.

“Ahhh, look, man, I don’t really...” he stammered, holding up his splayed hands.

Leon took pity on him. After all, being asked to kiss a friend you weren’t very close to was awkward as hell, and Carlos made no secret of the fact that he was strictly a ladies’ man.

“Don’t worry about it.” He held up a closed fist and waited.

The nervousness melted right off Carlos’s face, replaced by his usual cavalier grin, and he happily reciprocated the bro fist with a drawn out “yeah!”

Rebecca was giggling behind them as Leon went back to his spot.

“You’re such a wimp, Carlos.”

“Hey! Do I need to remind you how many zombies I shot down in three hours?”

“You were keeping count?”

“Oh, handsome,” Ada called.

Leon looked away from Carlos and Rebecca’s good-natured bickering to see that Ada had placed herself under that very same mistletoe. She beckoned him with a finger.

Leon forgot all about the study and went straight to her, pulled by the promise in her smile like a fish on a line.

“Aren’t you supposed to do this on accident?” Leon asked her.

“A smart woman makes her own accidents,” she replied. He couldn’t argue with that.

Mostly because she had reeled him in by his sweater and sealed her lips over his, but to be honest, he hadn’t had a very good comeback anyway. He hummed into her mouth, lingering, but not pressing forward too passionately. The room full of spectators were already whooping at them, and he didn’t want to put on any more of a show.

Reluctantly they parted, and Leon couldn't keep from grinning, even when Ada leaned in a little and whispered,

“Any news on that uninvited guest?”

“Working on it. Could use a distraction.”

Ada nodded and walked back out into the center of the room, clapping her hands together.

“So. Who wants to play a game?”

Leon gladly slipped away while the others immediately started arguing about what to play. Ada was great to have on your team, when you could trust her. He couldn't tell if she'd guessed the identity of their seventh guest yet or not.

All his warm and fuzzy feelings evaporated the moment he discovered Wesker was no longer in the office.

Leon gripped the door frame hard and bit back a curse. He looked all over the room, even checking under the desk, but the only sign Wesker had even been there was the journal left open on the desk. Typical, just typical. He had to find that man--he didn't believe for a second that Wesker had chosen to leave.

He circled around to the stairs, poking his head into the other rooms along the way. The basement door was still locked, at least. At the base of the stairs, he ran into Jill.

"Leon! There you are. I was wondering where you went."

"Oh, I just..." his eyes wandered up the stairs and his excuse died out on his tongue. There was Wesker, standing not five feet up the stairs from Jill, with his arms crossed and a cruel smirk on his lips. He jerked his eyes back to Jill's, willing his face to stay as blank as possible. “Uh. Did you need me for something?”

“We're about to play...” she trailed off, glancing over her shoulder towards the living room. “I mean, Rebecca wanted me to ask which game you'd want to play.”

“What are the options?” he asked her.

 _Don't look up, don't look up, don't look up,_ he thought, keeping his eyes fixed on hers. Jill was certain to get suspicious if he kept looking back at Wesker. Dammit, why wasn't the man moving? Was he trying to get back at Leon for something? Here he thought they'd parted on good terms last time, for once.

“Uh.” Jill looked blank. “I. Forgot.”

“Oh.”

They stared at one another in awkward silence. From the corner of his eye, he could see Wesker beckoning him with a crooked finger.

“Are you--”

“Did you--”

They stopped.

“You okay? You seem kind of tense,” Leon said.

“I'm fine.” Jill sighed, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Just. You know.”

“Yeah.” He wasn't sure he believed her, but, this wasn't the time to pry. It could wait until the next support group meeting.

Something brushed his arm. Leon looked down into empty air. Had he imagined it? When he looked up again, Wesker had vanished. The vice around his chest eased.

“C'mon. You look like you could use some of your own medicine,” Leon told her. He took the first steps towards the living room. After a moment's hesitation, Jill followed him.

 

* * *

 

Rebecca shut the door and leaned on it, panting, her heart pounding. When she stopped feeling lightheaded she rounded on the man she had just dragged in here. Wesker looked amused.

“You were supposed to be out of here two hours ago!” she hissed.

“I don't recall agreeing to that. I did take the suggestion in mind,” he said, with a smirk.

She'd always known dealing with him was a dangerous game, one bound to blow up in her face eventually. She just hadn't been expecting the explosion to come on Christmas. She should have know that a whole house full of his favorite enemies would prove too big a temptation. Jill and Leon had been right there, three feet from him. If either of them had glanced to the side...

Well, Leon might not recognize him. She didn't think they'd ever met face to face. Jill, though! If she caught him she was bound to ask why he was here, and he would have no reason not to answer truthfully. Then they would all know her shameful secret...

She planted her hands on her hips, determined to ignore how bad her own position was. It had worked on Billy, once upon a time.

“What else do you want? The payment has already been transferred.”

"What's the matter, dear? Are you afraid of what people might say if they find me in your house? Worried, perhaps, what would happen if they discovered our little business arrangement?"

She was terrified. What they were doing was wrong, and she knew it. She just hadn't been able to think of a better solution.

"They'd understand," she told him. "They know that I can't make any headway on curing a bioweapon if I don't have a sample of it. Leon..." she looked at the floor. "I think Leon already suspects."

"He's a clever fellow, that Leon. But they don’t know the identity of your supplier, do they?"

Rebecca stayed silent.

He was right. Jill would chew both her ears off even for speaking to Albert Wesker after everything he did. But what choice did she have? She wasn't exactly friendly with most bioweapons dealers. Wesker seemed happy to screw up his rivals and make a little money at the same time.

"I thought not," Wesker said.

"I don't want anyone fighting here," she told him. "And I don't want you hurting my friends."

"Hmm. Believe it or not, I'm not here for a fight."

"Then what are you here for?"

"Just a little unfinished business, you could say." He offered her a smirk. "Holiday business, dear, there's no need to look so worried. For a start..."

"Oh," Rebecca said, and felt her cheeks start to heat. She had just noticed the mistletoe over his head.

To think, back in 1998 she would have been thrilled to incoherence over this. She was well over that crush, thank you very much. Her feelings had been very inappropriate, but she’d been young. Bold. Riding the high of freshly earned independence.

Rebecca fidgeted and glanced at the door, as if she could feel everyone's judging eyes staring at her through the wood. Wesker watched on in silent amusement, knowing, no doubt, what the outcome would be already. This was another of his tests, no doubt.

Well, one little kiss couldn't hurt, could it?

There was just one problem. It was the same problem she'd had on their one, incredibly awkward date back in the old days: Wesker was 6 feet tall, and she was only 5 foot 3.

But Rebecca was nothing if not resourceful. She went and grabbed a crate from the stack in the corner, which she set down in front of him. His brow furrowed at this action. What had he been expecting her to do, jump on him? With the extra height provided by stepping up on the crate, she was just at Wesker’s eye level.

She leaned forward an inch. Then, a few cautious inches more. Wesker smirked briefly and met her in a chaste kiss, short and sweet, which nonetheless left her face red hot.

"Well. Merry Christmas," she told him. “Now will you please leave?”

"There are still two things I need to take care of. If you’re so eager to have me gone, you could help me with one of them.”

“What is it?” Rebecca asked, and immediately hated herself for even offering. It was like she was a rookie all over again. Yes sir, captain sir, whatever you need! “It better not be anything to do with ‘combat data’ or ‘research.’”

“I should hate to be so predictable. I would like you to fetch me some of Jill’s eggnog.”

Rebecca blinked.

“Eggnog? That’s it?”

“Jill makes the best eggnog.” Wesker said with such firm insistence she did not dare disagree.

“Well that should be easy. But we need to get you out of here without anyone seeing.”

She opened the door and peeked outside, flinching when she saw a shadow near the stairs.

“Dangit. Why are so many people hanging around the stairs?”

“I could break these bars and go out through the window,” Wesker offered.

“Don’t damage my house,” she told him. She folded her arms and did her best intimidating glare. It was not very intimidating. “If you do, I’m docking it out of your next payment.”

“Then what do you propose?”

Rebecca sighed. There was only one possible alternative.

“I didn’t want to show this to you, but I guess we don’t have any choice.”

She took the painting down off the wall, revealing a stone plaque with a relief of a sitting cat. From her pocket she took a small cat-shaped emblem and slotted it into place. Part of the wall silently retracted, revealing a hidden staircase.

“Impressive,” Wesker said, and he truly sounded sincere. “Is this...?”

“It’s a Trevor house,” she admitted. When I saw that it was on the market, I decided that I should buy it before some crazy Umbrella type did. You never know when some secret passages are going to come in handy. This leads down to the den. There shouldn’t be anyone near there, and it’s a straight shot to the door.”

“Thank you, dear.”

She watched with misgiving as he descended the dimly lit stairs. There was some kind of irony here, she thought. It was hard to fathom the many twists and turns that had led her to this point, smuggling Albert Wesker through the hidden paths of her house.

Her whole life she had been walking along razor edges, blissfully unaware of how close to doom she came so many times. Umbrella had scouted her, back in the day. She had been considering their offer. She might have taken it if a certain blond policeman hadn't swung by and inspired a bout of civic-mindedness that compelled her to join the police. Now she was living in a mansion designed for an Umbrella executive, doing research on Umbrella viruses, paying ex-Umbrella staff for their samples. It was like she was recreating the life that could have been, if she’d fallen off that razor.

She drifted back towards the noise of the party, shaking the surreal moment from her shoulders. She was not give much time to worry about Wesker’s next move. The moment she got back downstairs, Leon swooped by and all but carried her off back towards the front room.

 

* * *

 

Jill dropped a stack of books on to the table with a huff. Every time she tried to slip upstairs and make sure Wesker was gone, she ran into Leon or Claire. It was almost as if the universe were conspiring to keep her away from the second floor.

The whole group had split up to search for Rebecca’s party games. On the upside, that made it easier for her to search for a certain blond jerkass. On the other hand, there were a lot of people wandering around who could run into that same jerkass with disastrous results.

Rebecca had been weirdly insistent that there was nothing of interest in the den, but Jill was searching it anyway because she’d already hit every other room on this floor. So far she hadn’t found so much as a pack of cards.

All the shelves in here had looked so promising when she came in. As she passed in front of the closet--and she was still confused why a den even had a closet--she heard a voice.

“You will give me an eggnog.”

Jill almost had a heart attack. She clutched her chest with one hand, sucking in air and tramping down the reflex to draw her hidden pistol and open fire. With the other hand, she threw the door open.

Wesker smiled at her.

“ _What_ \--what are you doing in there?”

“You did request that I not be seen,” Wesker said. He surreptitiously nudged an umbrella behind him, and Jill had a glimpse of something shining in the wall there before the object covered it up.

“That was not a request,” she growled. “And you’re still here!”

“Excellent observation, Jill,” he said.

“Why are you still here?”

“Weren’t you listening? I haven’t had any of your eggnog yet. I can hardly leave before I do that.”

“Pull the other one, it’s got bells on,” Jill growled.

A footstep outside.

“Shit. Someone’s coming,” she whispered urgently.

Wesker spread his hands, and Jill shut the closet door in his face. Then she hurried out to intercept whoever that was.

This had long night written all over it.

 

* * *

 

Ada watched Jill rocket out of the den like she’d heard a fire alarm. Everyone was so tense this year. If she hadn’t attended last year’s little get together, she would have assumed they were always this way.

Her eyes slid to the room Jill had just vacated. Ada was wandering around mostly for entertainment at this point. She didn’t really feel like playing any party games, and was beginning to regret bringing up the idea. If she did find any, she’d have to hide them.

The others didn’t seem that interested in playing games, either. If she didn’t miss her mark, they were all more enthusiastic about searching for the games then actually finding them.

On top of everything else, Leon had mentioned an uninvited guest. Ada had a theory.

She sauntered into the vacant den, sizing up the space. It was cluttered with books and gaudy Christmas decorations, much like the rest of the house. She did like the crystal ornaments hanging from the ceiling. There was also a closet in one wall.

Ada walked up to it.

“Are we hiding?” she asked.

“Being hidden, more like. It’s quite amusing.”

Ada smiled and opened the door.

“Hello, Wesker.”

“Ada. I didn’t realize you attended these.”

“Once in a while. I do qualify for this group.”

“I suppose you would.”

“Let me guess,” she said, standing aside as he strolled out of the closet. “You’ve hired too many normal people on to your staff and they actually want to celebrate Christmas with their families this year. A little bored without any lab reports to go over, are we?”

Wesker hummed, neither confirming nor denying.

“This is one of the most entertaining holidays I’ve had in a long while,” he admitted.

“You should get out more.” Her eyes flicked to the ceiling. Either by accident or design, Wesker had planted himself right underneath the room’s lone cluster of mistletoe. Let no one ever say Ada was a woman to let opportunity slip away.

“Well, if you insist,” she said.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, slow and deep. He hummed into her mouth, reciprocating at once. His hands smoothed over her dress to the small of her back, pressing her in close. Ada broke it off first.

"You're not angry at me, are you?" she asked.

"You've developed a bad habit of _lying_ to me, Ada," he replied, dripping subtle menace.

"What's a little misdirection between old friends?" She smiled at him, not the least bit intimidated. She could tell he wasn’t really angry; his eyes hadn’t flared. "You enjoyed yourself, didn't you?"

"More than I expected," Wesker admitted, which on his terms was as good as saying "Yes, definitely," and also "thank you."

"I thought it could do you some good. Surprise is the spice of life. Maybe," she toyed with the short hairs at the back of his neck, "we can surprise Leon together sometime."

Wesker chuckled. "Both of us at once? We'd make the poor fellow's head explode."

"That would be the idea."

A lesser man would have choked at the way she said it, all smoke and innuendo, leaving no doubt that she intended the dirtiest possible meaning. Wesker stilled, blinking slowly, which was the closest he ever got to choking.

"You are incorrigible."

Ada gave him a flash of coy smile #28. She liked to carry herself as the height of class and sophistication, most of the time, but every once in a while, she gave her dirty mind a voice. It caught him off guard every time.

He leaned down and kissed her, again, slow and lingering, brimming with promise.

"I'm staying at the hotel nearby,” Ada said. “Room 226. If you wanted swing by after this..."

"Will you actually be there this time?"

"I might."

“Hmm.” He released her. “If you run into Leon, send him my way. There is something I need to give him.”

“Alright,” she shrugged. “Merry Christmas, Albert.” And then, when she was at the doorway, she paused and looked over her shoulder. “See you later.”

She smiled privately to herself once she was out of his sight. It seemed he still had no idea that Claire had had an inside man on the glitter bomb operation.

Out in the hall, Claire and Carlos were tangled up together underneath yet another sprig of mistletoe. Rebecca certainly had a lot of the stuff hung up. Ada wondered if the young woman was lonely.

Leon was right where she’d left him, lurking around the base of the stairs. He lit up at the sight of her, tension melting into a boyish exuberance she hadn’t seen since Raccoon. She came up close under the pretext of flirtatiously fixing his sweater, and put her lips to his ear.

“About that uninvited guest,” she whispered.

“You saw him?” he whispered back.

“He’s in the den.”

“What? How did he get down...I’ve been here the whole time!”

She shrugged.

“Better go see what he wants,” she advised.

Leon glared at the banister to his left, a light flush creeping up his neck.

“I can guess what he wants...” he muttered.

They really were too cute, the pair of them. She was still kicking herself for not forcing them together sooner.

“Oh, and Leon?” she took his hand and slipped a duplicate keycard for her hotel room into it. “I’m staying at the Spyglass Inn over on Brookview. Why don’t you stop by after the party, and we can...” she paused significantly, “catch up.”

Leon turned the keycard over in his hands, a little smile tugging at his mouth. He looked at her through the fall of his hair.

“No tricks this time?”

“I’ll be there,” she assured him. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 

* * *

 

The slim weight of the keycard in his pocket buoyed Leon up so much that even the prospect of walking to meet Wesker couldn’t bring him down. He felt he was walking in the clouds, his whole being made light and airy with the promises of the evening.

Just as Ada had said, Wesker was waiting for him in the den. Leon checked the ceiling before approaching, just to make sure he knew where the mistletoe was.

“Alright, so what’s this about?” he asked.

"I have a gift for you," Wesker told him, which was right up there with "I'm afraid I must kill you" for terrifying phrases a man didn't want to hear from Albert Wesker. Wesker pulled a folder out from his suit coat and handed it out.

Leon took it the same way he'd pick up a venomous snake, his eyes on Wesker's face the entire time. The man only seemed more amused by his caution.

The very first file within the folder contained a lab report featuring photos of a humanoid creature with several extra heads, and they only got worse from there.

"What is this?" Leon asked, flipping from page to page of documented crimes against nature with increasing agitation.

"All the intel you need to close down a fledgling bioweapon manufacturer by the name of Amarantus."

Leon snapped the folder closed. Wesker’s neutral face gave nothing away.

"Why are you giving me this?"

"I happen to know their chief researcher. We have, shall we say, a certain longstanding and irritating disagreement? I can think of no better Christmas present for him than to send the DSO down his throat."

"I am not some tool you can use for your own petty vengeance!" Leon snapped.

"If you prefer, you can leave him in peace to continue developing his new supervirus. He should have it ready within a matter of weeks, and then it'll be out on the black market."

Leon's fists clenched. Dammit. Wesker knew just how to play him. They both knew Leon couldn't just stand by and let another one of those viruses get out into the world.

"But, it's only a gift. I won't dictate how you use it," Wesker told him. The man turned smoothly towards the room’s other door, the one that led out into the conservatory.

"Don't get the wrong idea," Leon said to the man's retreating back. "I'm still not working for you."

Wesker turned, chuckling.

"You're already working for me, Leon. You're just not getting paid for it." He said it with a proprietary sort of smile, as if he were humoring a secretary. If he'd been holding a mic, he definitely would have dropped it, right before he slipped into the darkness of the conservatory. The door shut behind him with a click.

Leon gaped after him in horrified silence.

"Leon!" Jill came in through the hallway door, looking worried and slightly breathless.

"What is it?"

She stopped, her face curiously blank while her eyes darted back and forth, searching the room.

"Did you. Find the pictionary?"

"No."

"Oh."

"I'm sure it's around here somewhere," he said, motioning to the open closet. He discretely slid the folder behind his back and hoped she hadn't noticed it.

Jill glanced at his face and then crept forward, peeking inside the closet as if she was afraid there might be a zombie inside. She'd told them about that incident. The story had made Leon thankful for the R.P.D.'s mysterious lack of supply closets.

"Hmm." She shifted an umbrella hanging near the back. "I knew I saw an emblem..."

Indeed, there was a small relief of a cat set into the closet wall, and it looked like something could fit inside it. She and Leon exchanged glances.

"I need to talk to Rebecca about this house," Jill said.

Leon agreed.

 

* * *

 

Carlos unbent from looking under the computer desk, cracking his back with a satisfying pop. He’d been all over this house, and he hadn’t seen any of the games Rebecca had mentioned. Jill and Leon walked by the study door, their smiles slightly strained. Jill was suggesting they track down Rebecca and get the key to the basement.

Man, what was up with everyone this year? Everyone was really gung ho about finding these party games all of a sudden. He would rather watch a movie and play a drinking game, but before he could even make the suggestion, the rest of the party had scattered. It had been like 20 minutes now, and no one was ready to call it quits. It was almost like they were more interested in searching for the games than actually finding them.

Had something happened that no one was telling him about?

He wandered out into the hall, mulling over this. A door clicked shut from one of the nearby rooms. Curious, Carlos poked his head into the den.

There was a blond man sinking into one of the comfy leather chairs. Carlos didn’t know his name, but, that wasn’t too unusual. There were a few members of the group who only stopped by sporadically, and he knew he hadn’t seen them all in person. What was strange was the fact this man was wearing sunglasses indoors, at night. The man looked up at him, his pale eyebrows raised.

“Nice party, huh? I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” Carlos broke off, squinting at the stranger’s face. “You look really familiar. Have we met before?”

“I’ve seen you before,” the man said.

“Oh, right. Probably in Raccoon city, huh? Sorry, I can’t keep track of all the civilians I save.”

The man’s lips twitched. “It was a very hectic incident,” he said.

“Tell me about it. Say, have you seen any games around here? I’m supposed to be looking for pictionary, but I can’t draw to save my life.”

“Now that you mention it, I did see Twister somewhere.”

“Twister?” Carlos lit up. Twister would be _fantastic_ to play. Not only would he get to see how flexible the girls were, but it was a game he might actually win. “That would be awesome. Where’d you see it?”

“Let’s make a deal,” the man said in a tone of voice that made Carlos suddenly fearful for his immortal soul. “If you get me a glass of eggnog, I’ll find the game and bring it over here.”

Just eggnog? Phew. He could do that, easy.

“Jill cut you off, huh? Alright, man, sounds good to me. I’ll be right back.”

He jogged out of the room, only slowing when he passed by the standoff of Claire and Leon under the hallway mistletoe.

“Are you trying to get everyone?” Leon was asking.

“Maybe,” Claire said. She had her hands clasped behind her back and was bouncing a little on her toes.

“Go for it, man,” Carlos said. “I’m sure your lady won’t mind!”

“I hate being just another notch on the bedpost,” Leon joked, but he leaned in for a kiss anyway.

Claire giggled through most of it, her hands knotting in Leon’s sweater. Carlos hooted for them. Whoever had filled the whole house with mistletoe had had the right idea, he thought. He hurried on to the empty main room, where the lonely snack table looked almost sad. People--mostly Claire--had been hitting the eggnog hard. There was just enough left for a few more glasses. Carlos filled one of the brandy snifters almost to the brim, and made his way back to the den.

The mystery blond was just coming out of the closet, and he was brushing cobwebs off a very old twister box.

“Here you go--oh, woah, watch out.” Carlos skidded to a halt and stabbed a finger at the ceiling. “That stuff is everywhere.”

The blond lifted his head slowly, following the path of Carlos’s finger to the cluster of mistletoe hanging over him.

“That explains a great deal,” he said.

Carlos barked out a laugh. Yes, he approved of mistletoe in general, but not getting caught under it with strange dudes.

The man carefully skirted away from the plant and handed Carlos the box at the doorway. Carlos cheerfully gave him the glass in exchange.

“Merry Christmas,” Carlos said, waving the box.

“Happy Christmas,” the man replied.

“Hey guys, look what we found!” Carlos called out loud, racing through the hall like a returning champion with the box held high. The others, who had congregated near the basement door, all looked up.

“Oh no,” Jill said.

“I thought I left that in....” Rebecca trailed off.

“Hell yeah!” Claire broke off from kissing Ada to pump both her fists in the air, and nearly socked the taller woman in the eye. “Who’s ready to get their ass beat?”

“It’s not even holiday themed,” Rebecca groaned, covering her eyes.

“Could always make the caller wear the reindeer antlers,” Leon said.

“You’re making it worse,” Jill warned him.

And as everyone broke out into good-natured bickering, only Carlos seemed to notice the blond man slipping out the front door.

 

* * *

 

Epilogue

Leon leaned back against the wall of the elevator, watching the numbers slowly tick up. He had Wesker’s folder clutched in one hand, half-hidden under his coat. It was a good gift, now that he’d had time to cool down and think about it. He wouldn’t accept much from that man, but this, this was something that could really save lives. There was almost a twisted thoughtfulness to it.

And no one else had spotted Wesker the entire party. It had been a good night, despite the initial anxiety. He’d even managed to win a round of twister, which was an impressive accomplishment when you were up against the likes of Claire and Ada.

Ada. The elevator doors dinged open, and Leon took a deep breath. It was nice seeing everyone else, but, well. Could anyone blame him for looking forward to this more?

226, the keycard said. His heart pumped a little faster with every step towards that door. Would she really be there, this time? The keycard slipped in smoothly, and he opened the door.

It was a smaller suite than the last one, just one room with a single king bed. Ada sat on the corner of the mattress, her legs folded, posed as if waiting for a photographer to take his shot. He wondered if she ever practiced these things in a mirror. It sure had the right effect.

“Hello, handsome.”

“Ada.”

He strolled into the room, hardly paying attention as he tossed his coat on the nearest chair. The folder he placed with a little more care on the desk. The window blinds were already shut, and the radio was playing a vaguely celtic rendition of “What Child is This.”

She stood with a whisper of silk, and her smile melted him to the core. They'd spent the whole party catching up and having drinks. That cut a lot of the fat out of their usual hotel rendezvous.

The door closed by itself behind him. Leon turned, and did a double take.

Wesker had propped himself against the wall, his outstretched arm now barring the exit. His sunglasses were absent, the naked eyes glittering with dark promise. Leon swallowed.

"Am I in trouble....?"

Wesker pushed off the wall and closed in. "That depends on your definition of 'trouble,'" he purred. His wandering hands tugged at the hem of Leon’s sweater.

A warm, soft body pressed against Leon’s back. He looked over his shoulder into Ada’s wicked smile.

"I'm in trouble."

 

End

 


End file.
